Peter Swan Poems

She sits there
like a Zen bhuddist
but I see Marilyn Monroe
My hands around her curves
...

KILL GOD!
KILL RELIGION!
KILL the clinging to things
KILL the desire to be an opposite
...

As an island you stand isolated
Yet connected at the core
An earthbound beacon
Attempting to calm the seas while
...

Clean shaven, suited and booted he boards the train.
Crowded, the smell of sweat in his face.
Desperate for communication but no ones communicating.
Caffeine related stress, computer related madness.
...

like a cloud
i can move
or a leaf falling
in a groove
...

Why do politicians make ordinary
people fight for their false ideologies?
Oblivious to the pain and horror.
Senses deadend by sound bites and soft focus.
...

tired and brown the river winds down
through mudflats and derelict houses
its steady stream gazed upon
by lovers and thief’s
...

These words slurred from a postman’s hips,
make treacle cream from milkmaids lips,
just as the world turns square as a cardboard pip,
then gravity forms rings around the sofa.
...

I AM small but can be tall.
I AM fat, thin, black, white, funny and sad.
I AM the sun rising early in the morning
I AM the night.
...

From the ashes rose
Africa.
A phoenix of pure sunlight.
Its vast wings of antiquity;
...